


It Begins with Goodbye

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But Crowley Ships Everything Let's Be Honest, Crowley Ships it, Episode: s05e18 Point of No Return, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, First Time, M/M, Quick reference to suicidal thoughts, Season/Series 05, brief self-cutting (as in...an angel carving a sigil on his own chest?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you don't believe in me, Cas, why the hell are you doing this?"</p>
<p>Castiel grabs Dean by the jacket. He grimaces, bracing himself for heavy fists. But Dean gets Castiel's mouth on his instead.</p>
<p>--<br/>First part takes place during 05x18: Point of No Return. Second part takes place during 05x21: Two Minutes to Midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Begins with Goodbye

Castiel unknots his tie and folds it slowly in his hands. "I'll clear them out. You two grab the boy. This is our only chance." He glances at the door to the abandoned warehouse. Adam is inside, as are the angels assigned to his guard.

Dean frowns. "Whoa, whoa. Wait. You're gonna take on five angels?"

"Yes," Castiel replies. He tucks the tie into his coat pocket.

"Isn't that suicide?"

"Maybe it is. But then I won't have to watch you fail." Castiel shakes his head. "Sorry, Dean. I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does."

Dean can't argue. Not after everything he's done, and everything he still might do. Why should Cas believe in him? Dean doesn't even trust himself to be here. He should be locked in the panic room at Bobby's, as far away as possible. What was Sam thinking?

His focus shifts when Castiel pulls an object out of his pocket. An...orange pen knife? Castiel flips the blade out with a succession of clicks.

"The hell are you doing with that?" Sam asks.

Castiel's mouth tightens to a resigned line. He begins to unbutton his shirt. 

Sam's frown deepens. "Cas?"

Shirt opened, Castiel begins to cut his own skin. The wounds are shallow, just deep enough for a trickle of blood. If it hurts, the pain does not register on Castiel's face.

"Cas, what the hell!?" Maybe Castiel can't feel pain. Dean still grabs his arm and tries to pull the blade away.

He freezes at the withering glare the angel gives him. "Let go, Dean," Castiel mutters.

Dean has no right to argue with him, not after what happened in that alley. But, "Not until you tell us what's going on." He still does.

Castiel blows out an impatient breath. "It's a sigil," he explains.

Dean blinks. In his surprise, his grip on Castiel's arm weakens.

Free of constraints, Castiel continues his methodical carving. The sigil takes shape - a bleeding circle with characters Dean does not recognize forming a triangle around the outside. 

"You're putting an angel ward...on yourself?" Sam sounds the words out slowly, like even he can't believe he's saying them.

"Yes." Design complete, Castiel closes the pen knife and tucks it back into his coat pocket. Mindful of telltale bloodstains, Castiel buttons his shirt back up.

"But what happens when you shazaam those wing nuts?" Dean asks. Again, Castiel glowers at him.

Silence isn't enough of an answer this time. "Cas," Dean pushes. "The mark's on your meat suit. What happens when you get zapped by your own skin?"

Castiel ignores Dean in favor of lifting his eyes. "Goodbye, Sam." The angel does not smile, but he does awkwardly put out his hand. It's a role reversal from the day he met Sam Winchester. He remembers the afternoon vividly. Much has been learned since then.

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. Stiffly, he takes the angel's hand and shakes it. 

"You said you've got no faith in me," Dean mutters. His eyes flit between the angel and his brother. They settle on Castiel, darkening with anger. "If you don't believe in me, Cas, why the hell are you doing this?"

Castiel releases Sam's hand before meeting Dean's stare. "Goodbye, Dean," he says.

"Cas, I swear to-"

Castiel grabs Dean by the jacket. Dean grimaces, bracing himself for heavy fists. But Dean gets Castiel's mouth on his instead. One second of contact between dry lips. It's over before it begins. 

Castiel releases him. His expression is frigid, distant. "Cas...what the hell?" Dean forces out. Startled, Sam's eyes widen.

Unaffected by their reactions, Castiel opens the door to the warehouse. It closes behind him with a click.

Outside, Dean rubs his mouth.

He looks at the closed door. He looks at Sam. Then, he turns skyward, rubbing his mouth again. "Dude, _what the hell_?"

Sam tries to speak, but all that comes out is, "Uh." He looks at the closed warehouse door.

After a moment, he clears his throat and tries again. "We, uh...we don't have to let him do this, Dean."

"What?"

"We can..." Sam shrugs, fighting a losing battle for words. "I don't know! We can figure out another way in. Cas doesn't have to-"

"You want to talk sense into an angel with a death wish?" Dean glares at him. Glaring at Sam is a lot easier than facing whatever the hell just happened. "Be my guest, Sam. I don't fucking know anymore."

"Dean." Sam frowns. He still has no idea what to think, but his first instinct is concern. "Cas could die in there."

"Sam-"

Dean is cut off by screams and a shrill sound, like a dog whistle. Then, everything is quiet.

Too quiet. The brothers exchange a look.

Cautiously, Dean tries the door. Inside, there is a room within a room, an out-of-place tool shed in the center of vacant warehouse space. One dead body lies in a heap on the floor, stabbed by an angel blade. There is no one else. No Cas. 

But Cas is alive, Dean tells himself. Has to be, the idiot. If he's dead...

Dean's focus snaps towards the tiny shack.

Cas isn't dead, because Dean can't deal with losing him right now. He has to get Adam out of here, and he has to do it without either of them saying yes to Michael. Dean can’t let Sammy down. Or Bobby. Or the entire friggen human race.

Cas isn't dead. The body count on Dean's ledger is already too high. One more name, and Michael will have to resurrect Dean's ass if he wants to use him. Over and over, until Dean runs out of bullets to put through his skull.

***

They'll move out at midnight. Dean and the demon will head to Chicago to kill Death. Sam and Castiel will commit domestic terrorism inside Niveus Pharmaceuticals and stop the zombie Apocalypse. No big deal...

Dean looks up from checking ammo and finds the angel-gone-human sitting on the living room couch. He is watching the sun set behind the rows of junk cars lining Bobby's property.

Castiel is also testing fingers against the cut above his left eye. He pushes gently, wincing at the pain his touch causes. Then, he repeats the action, wincing again. 

What must it be like to feel pain for the first time? Dean can't wrap his brain around the idea. Even a baby knows when it doesn’t feel good - it's hungry, or sick. Castiel has been around for centuries, but this is the first time he's experienced any of it.

Dean sets down the rounds in exchange for a bottle of whiskey. He takes a swig from it, then crosses the room. "Hey," he says, "c'mere."

Castiel lifts his head. From a distance, it was easier to ignore his anguish. But now, up close, Dean is slapped by the full weight. It glistens in Castiel's eyes and tugs at his mouth.

Dean takes a long drink from the whiskey bottle. Then, he clears his throat. "Let's, uh, put something on that, huh?" He points to the cut across Castiel's brow.

Castiel tilts his head. "I can do it," he says.

"Cas." Dean doesn't know why, but he’s suddenly desperate to do this for him. Castiel's problem is simple. It's human. Dean actually knows what to do. Unlike, well, everything else in his crazy-ass life.

Castiel is trying to read him, Dean can tell by the way his eyes squint.

Whatever Castiel sees makes him nod and relent. "Thank you, Dean," he says, standing.

Dean keeps the whiskey bottle with him when he starts upstairs. Castiel follows closely behind.

There is a spare bedroom at the top of the steps. Dean motions for Castiel to wait inside. He veers for the bathroom down the hall, and the First Aid Kit under the sink. It's in a nondescript black plastic case and has all the usual quick-fix stuff, with a flask of holy water mixed in. Dean goes for the disinfectant salve and Q-tips.

Castiel is sitting on the bed when Dean enters. His head is turned to the side, facing the window and the darkening sky outside. Something about his silence makes Dean shut the door behind him.

Leaning over him, Dean applies the salve to the end of a Q-tip. “Hold still,” he says, and gently coats the cut above Castiel's eye. Even the careful touch makes Castiel wince. He lowers his head, ashamed of the reaction.

"We'll figure something out, Cas." Dean says the words, but he has no idea if they're true. What is there to figure out? Castiel is cut off from Heaven, and he zapped away what was left of his mojo when he took out those angels in Van Nuys. It is what it is at this point. For all of them.

Castiel shakes his head. He knows all of this too. "I just wish I could be more help-"

"Hey," Dean cuts in. "You're family, Cas. We're in this together. So nut up and pull your weight, got it?"

Castiel's eyes widen with alarm. Whatever he's feeling, it's clear that he doesn't know how to process it, let alone voice it in words.

Unsure, Castiel turns to face the window again. "Thank you, Dean," he murmurs.

Dean frowns. He probably hasn't downed enough whiskey to ask his next question. But what the hell. End of the world, right?

"Why'd you kiss me, Cas?"

Castiel's brow furrows. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Eventually, he decides on, "I was saying goodbye."

Dean shakes his head. Not good enough. "You didn't kiss Sam," he points out.

"Why...would I kiss Sam?" Castiel asks, sounding confused. "Sam is my friend."

Dean raises a brow. "What, I'm not your friend?"

"Yes, of course you are, Dean." Castiel looks at him more closely. Whatever he sees makes him avert his gaze from Dean to the wall behind him. "In any event, I'm alive. So."

"Oh, good." Freaking angels. ...Ex-angels. "You're alive! That clears everything up. Thanks, man."

Dean watches his eyes harden. It's a look Dean has perfected too, when his patience wears thin and he's completely over something.

Castiel stands from the bed and moves to pass him. "Cas, no." Dean stops him with a hand on his elbow. 

"Dean-" Castiel is pulled back, forcing him to meet Dean face-to-face again.

"I said no," Dean repeats. "The damn world's ending, Cas. I don't care if you're mad, or you think I'm an idiot. We _don't have time_. You understand?"

Castiel's head tilts. Dean can almost see his mind ticking, trying to translate feelings into thoughts. It’s strange and uncomfortable, but Dean keeps still. After everything they've been through, Dean owes him this.

This time, whatever Castiel sees in Dean makes him move forward, not away. He hooks his fingers into Dean's shirt and leans in to kiss him. 

Castiel only stays a moment. He is smiling when he steps back, satisfied with the brief contact. Wordlessly, he turns for the door again.

Dean's hand on his shoulder stops him. He pulls back so suddenly that Castiel stumbles over his feet.

Castiel is still mid-trip when Dean grabs him by the collar and yanks him into a second kiss. It is clumsier than the first, Castiel gripping Dean's shoulders for balance. Dean's mouth is crushed against his, their noses squashed up on one another. 

Dean reaches up for Castiel's face, thumbs stroking his jawline. His skin rasps over dull stubble, and Castiel's lips part with surprise. This is the access Dean wants, and he takes advantage of it.

Castiel shudders against him. The hands on Dean's shoulders become steadier, and more focused. One skims down Dean's chest to move beneath his shirt. The other cups the back of his head, urging him closer.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean grumbles, low against his lips. "You couldn't speak up earlier? Like, before you torched the God squad with your meat?"

"I didn't want to die with regrets, Dean." Castiel replies.

Dean chuckles. "You stupid son of a bitch."

His voice is fond, but Castiel does not understand "The world is coming to an end. There were, and are, more pressing concerns, Dean-"

"You _stupid_ son of a bitch," Dean repeats, because he doesn't have a more eloquent way to say it. He covers Castiel's mouth again. This time, it's easier, more comfortable. Castiel doesn't argue with him anymore. He just makes a small sound of content - Dean could get used to that. 

Dean's hands work quickly. First, he pushes Castiel's trench coat off his shoulders. Then, he unlaces Castiel's tie, slowly pulling it from his collar and tossing it on the bed. His shirt buttons follow, pinched open one by one.

Castiel leans into his touch, sucking in little, surprised breaths. Each one makes Dean's fingers more impatient. He quickens his pace, until he can rest his forehead on Castiel's hair and look down his naked torso. 

Dean should have expected it, mortal and all. But he's caught off guard by the network of cuts and bruises on Castiel's skin. Landing bloody and brain dead on a shrimping boat off Delacroix apparently leaves some scars.

Castiel catches where Dean's eyes are. "I can't heal them," he says. Rather than look at his own tarnished skin, he turns his face towards Dean's, grazing his jaw gently with his lips. A soft apology for his weakness. 

Dean makes a pensive sound. He decides to start at Castiel's throat. There is a small scar here, edging the side of his neck. Castiel twitches, startled by the ache drawn by Dean's mouth. But he still tilts his head upward, offering permission. 

Dean does not stay here long. He continues downward, mouth touching every bruise and scrape. He braces his hands on Castiel's waist, urging him to sit on the bed. Castiel does, with a note of confusion.

Dean doesn't answer his unasked question. He fits himself between Castiel's legs instead, hands on his thighs, and continues to claim each mark on his skin. Every blemish. Every scar. He runs his lips and his tongue over each one possessively.

"Dean?" Castiel watches him, fascinated. Is this a human practice, to worship these broken places? He does not understand. But Dean's mouth is making Castiel feel peaceful, and sad. An unfamiliar warmth rises to his cheeks.

"You're good like this, Cas," Dean murmurs.

He only stops when Castiel cups his chin in a hand, making him lift his head. At his urging, Dean pushes up on his thighs to kiss him again. He's distracted by tasting him, enough that Castiel is able to shift beneath him, turning them so Dean is the one sitting on the mattress.

When Dean tilts his head back, Castiel has moved between his legs, a role reversal. Castiel sinks to his knees and noses under the hem of Dean's t-shirt. 

"Know what you're doing?" Dean teases. Not that he knows what he's doing either...

Castiel shoots him a stern look. 'Don't start,' obviously.

Dean likes the way Castiel looks mouthing impatiently at his stomach. His lips trace ab lines and circle his navel as his hands ruck his shirt up. As cotton is lifted, Castiel follows with his mouth. He pushes himself up between Dean's thighs, body fit snugly to him as his mouth wanders to his chest. At his collar, he nips curiously at the demon ward tattoo. His hair teases against Dean's cheek.

The weight of Castiel's body between his legs does not go unnoticed. Dean shifts, responding to it.

He ducks his head to let Castiel get his shirt off. As soon as the garment is gone, Dean digs a fist into Castiel’s hair. His grip tightens when Castiel's teeth move up his throat, nipping ridges and licking curves. His eyes wander hungrily down Castiel's back, strong shoulder blades contrasted with the bruises and cuts coloring his skin.

He is goddamn beautiful. Why the hell didn't they do this before now?

No. Dean has enough regrets to last ten lifetimes. He can't add this to the pile. This one gets filed under 'better late than never.'

He yanks on Castiel's hair, making Castiel drop his head back. His grunt is covered by Dean’s mouth.

Then, they're sinking onto the mattress. Dean isn't sure who pushed who. He still has one hand in Castiel's hair, and his other hand is yanking on his belt with impatience. Castiel has the same idea, tearing into his jeans like he's starving for what's inside. 

Dean thinks he feels a whispered "Yes" against his lips. Maybe he imagined it?

Either way, hot.

Dean pushes his pants and his underwear down. His thumbs fit against Castiel's hipbones with ease. There is a bruise in one dent, unknown to Dean until Castiel hisses. His eyes squeeze with pain, but his waist juts forward. Dean finds himself licking his lips under the hot breaths Castiel pants out against him. 

"I fucking want you," Dean says. No sense beating around the bush now.

Castiel opens eyes that say way too much for Dean to read. He sees wonder, shock, maybe a touch of fear?

Castiel clears his throat. "I've never..." He swallows. "This is new. All of it."

Dean can wrap his brain around sex with a virgin. But he can't get his head around sex with a virgin-ex-angel-turned-human. It's one thing to never be touched before. It's another to never feel _anything_. 

"You want to stop?" Dean asks. He knows what answer he's hoping for, but he has to be fair and ask. It might be the end of the world, but some things can't be rushed.

Castiel shakes his head 'no.' To emphasize, he urges Dean to lift his waist so he can push his jeans down his legs. Okay then.

There is an awkward pause when the shedding of clothes is complete, leaving only skin and sheets.

Dean's eyes drink in Castiel, his new mortality written in the battered state of his body. Dean traces fingers over the bruises shading his ribs. Castiel sucks in a breath, and Dean feels an answering twitch between his legs. The marks make him angry, and weirdly jealous.

"Dean." Castiel's gaze drags up Dean's naked body. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. Dean swallows.

Tentatively, he slides a hand up between them, grazing Castiel's cock.

Castiel moans so loud and suddenly, Dean's attention snaps to the closed door, searching for any signs of activity.

Castiel cranes his head back too. "I'm...sorry, Dean," he forces, clearly shaken. "This is-"

"New," Dean completes for him, voice strained. He grabs Castiel's wrist and jerks it up to his face. Castiel stares first at his own hand, then at Dean with confusion.

"Spit," Dean orders. He can tell Castiel doesn't get it. But the way Dean says the word makes him obey without hesitation.

As soon as his hand is wet, Dean pulls it back down between their bodies. He coaxes Castiel to wrap the damp fingers around his shaft. Castiel does so, hand shaking with anxious curiosity. He pulls his grip over Dean's cock, loosely wrapping it around the head. His thumb strokes, intrigued, around the sensitive ridging. Then, it draws across the top, dipping into the slit and giving a slow pump.

Castiel knows what to do, way more than Dean expected. He's seen things, maybe? Observed the act of sex while he was watching the Earth? But he's never done it himself, never tried to produce the same reactions he's witnessed. Until now.

"Fuck," Dean grits out. He brings his own hand up and licks the fingers impatiently. Kid gloves off, he winds his fist around Castiel and jerks him firmly.

Castiel practically collapses against him. This time, his sudden jolt brings his mouth to Dean's, allowing him to muffle his moan within their kiss. God, Dean can feel the sound vibrating on his tongue.

Encouraged, Dean keeps right on stroking, fitting their bodies together. He feels Castiel's waist thrusting little pumps into his hand.

The hand around Dean’s cock may be less experienced, but it has ideas. It clenches, then loosens. Castiel's thumb is a firm presence at the underside of Dean's shaft, dragging on him so heavily that Dean's waist rolls forward and he groans.

Castiel's motions are jagged, a little stiff. But they're strong. It's been forever since Dean did this with a man. He forgot just how different a dude's hands can be, how much bigger they are.

Their cocks jump together between their bellies, thick skin on skin. Castiel near-whimpers against Dean's lips. The sound is high, weak, and totally un-Cas like. Dean is getting off on his reactions, maybe more than Castiel's hand on his dick.

What's he going to sound like when he comes? This seems like a good thing to find out. For science, and what not. 

Dean tightens the hand in Castiel's hair, forcing him to angle his head so he can taste him deeper. Castiel has no complaints. He grips Dean's shoulder when Dean rolls to get on top. The hand drags painfully down his back to grab his ass.

Heh, Cas is an ass man, who knew?

But Castiel knows what he's doing. When he tightens his grip, Dean's waist thrusts downward, shafts grinding harder between their bodies. The coarse curls at Cas' base stroke ticklish torture on Dean's skin.

Dean stretches his fingers, getting himself and Castiel together. He yanks on both their dicks as best he can. The response is immediate. Castiel goes rigid under him, so tense that Dean is almost afraid he's hurt him. He gives enough space to feel Castiel's stuttered, broken breaths against his face.

Castiel somehow knows to shift his hand down as Dean's pumps upward. His slicked, wet thumb drags between Dean's legs and rolls his balls. Dean hears himself growl, the sound trapped under the teeth he's hooked on Castiel's lip.

He pumps their shafts together again. The friction is insane, making something hot shudder low in Dean's belly. Castiel's fingers dig into his waist. Dean can feel the bruises he's going to have tomorrow. He's normally not one for marking, but for this? He'll make a damn exception. 

"Dean." Castiel sounds so panicked that Dean nearly laughs. And he would, if his own chest wasn't so damn tight. 

Dean kisses a corner of his lips.

He doesn't mean for this to be the last straw. But, all of a sudden Castiel is making this _sound_. This shaking, high-pitched whisper. Jesus. Then, Dean feels his waist spasm. Castiel comes in messy, pretty spurts between their stomachs. His eyes are open but glossed over, pupils totally blown out over his normally vibrant blue. 

Impatient to join him, Dean smears his release and begins fucking his own hand. His erection grinds down on Castiel's skin, flushed and wet. It doesn't take long for Dean to get himself off like this. He holds himself up as long as he can, lowering his head to watch his come streak over Castiel's skin.

Then, he lets his weary body roll to the side. Only, he brings Castiel with him, urging him over with a firm hand. Castiel comes to him, half-draping over his chest. His ragged breaths are hot against Dean's ear. 

They have to move soon. Get washed up and re-dressed before the others catch on. And take care of the sheets. Bobby may be in a wheelchair, but he still wields a mean shotgun.

"Dean, I..." Castiel's voice is heavy with things he doesn't have words for. 

Dean sighs into his hair. "Yeah, Cas," he murmurs. "Me too."

***

Bobby wheels himself into the living room, on a break from supply packing. The King of the Crossroads is there, weight propped on Bobby’s desk. He's sporting a little grin.

Nothing good about a happy demon. "What's with you?" Bobby grumbles, suspicious.

Crowley's smirk deepens. He rolls his eyes upward. "Cookie for those two."

There is a fresh bottle of whiskey on the desk. Crowley helps himself to it without asking for permission. He unscrews the top and fills a tumbler half-way.

"Spit it out," Bobby mutters.

Crowley sniffs the whiskey. His face scrunches as if he just tasted something sour.

Disgusted, he places the glass on the desk, untouched.

"End of the world, mate," Crowley replies, with another casual glance at the ceiling. "At least somebody's got the right idea."

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday! I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi :)


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